Christian, in his infinite wisdom and silliness, typed the following to me on
some sort of chat mechanism. The mechanism itself involves a type of
grease-stained rodent not found in these parts any longer. In fact, all of
the rodents are gone. One day, no one could find one. I’m surprised the
mechanism survives and is still in working condition this evening. I mourn the
loss of the rodentia.
BUT … Christian, in his infinite wisdom and silliness, typed the
following to me:
My trust issues stem from my childhood, when my mother, or perhaps father,
would suspend me for hours upside down with goggles in an aquarium filled
with mildly carnivorous fish. One nostril was closed, while the other was
“sealed” around a straw through which I breathed. The straw was just short
enough so that if I relaxed my entire body it would become submerged. Then my
mother/father/community would take turns flashing cards though the glass,
with various words and phrases upon them, such as “mother”, “state”,
“girlfriend”, “tuna”, and so on and so forth…
I’ll treat this as some sort of adolescent allegory. These happenings begin
long before adolescence, however. They did for me, anyway. I suspect they did
for Christian, as well. Brainwashing … I never heard that term until much
later. I sat on a pew at church for many years. That church was the sort of
aquarium that Christian is writing about.
The semi-carniverous fish are the thoughts vomited violently from the pulpit
onto the congregation. Keeping stiff is my concentration. The congregation
must not be left to their own thoughts. Were they to relax, the straw would
dip beneath the surface. A nasty shock awaits when one’s breathing apparatus is
occluded. I may have let the straw slip below a number of times. I probably received
that nasty shock. My attention surely snapped back to the pulpit. Lapping up the vomit
and chewing on its chunks was the only proper way.
The aquarium became more complex in high school. The impenetrable walls were
the authority figures. Teachers were translucent enough to flash words and
phrases at me. I had to mirror them. Otherwise, the fish were told to feast on
my face. I had pock marks galore. Blood did not clot easily in the warm water,
but flowed freely and further obscured the translucence of the maestras. My
mistakes trebled. The feeding began once again. Finally, I was nothing but a
fleshless skull.
That is me today.
